


Hurt

by VolatileHeart



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Bad Parenting, Depressing, Depression, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, No Smut, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Omega Verse, Other, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Serious, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Triggers, sometimes i write things other than porn, sorry this isn't sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:29:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4628757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolatileHeart/pseuds/VolatileHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>READ TAGS FOR TRIGGERS. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. </p>
<p>Emmett is a teenaged omega who suffers with the aftermath of being raped, alone and unable to tell anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably depressing and triggering for some people. Please do not leave negative comments on my story because you neglected to read the tags and take proper precautions beforehand.

Emmett swallows thickly as he pulls his clothes from his gym locker. Everyone else around him is changing without a problem. Some even switch bras.

He heads towards a bathroom stall and locks himself in tightly, staring down at his own bra. He barely even needs the padding. Small breasts run in his family. Without thinking, he gnaws on the inside of his cheeks as he changes out of his sweaty gym uniform. He runs his fingers through his damp, blonde locks.

History passes without incident. Mr. Hendrix drones on about someone named Thomas Aquinas. He is an alpha.

Emmett’s heart pounds every time the man gets too close to him.

When Emmett gets home he turns off the lights and climbs under his covers. He pretends that the world has ended. Swallowed by a black hole, obliterated by a meteor, torched by the sun—he dreams up a million apocalypses.

The inside of his mouth stings. He’s gotten used to the taste of metal on his tongue. Emmett continues to chew.

He hasn’t been eating much. When his father knocks on his door and says it’s time to come down for dinner, Emmett doesn’t hesitate. Mr. Gavin Hall doesn’t enjoy repeating himself.

Dinner goes as expected. Emmett eats a spoonful of peas and sips his water sparingly. His mother asks if he’s having body image issues. Emmett merely frowns at his peas and shakes his head. He hates peas.

His father chalks it up to stubbornness. He says he doesn’t know what kind of point Emmett is trying to make, but if he doesn’t start eating he’s going to make sure the boy has bigger things to pout over than peas. His mother chastises his father sharply, in that quiet omegan voice of his. It works as effectively as a shout would. While his parents argue, Emmett takes his chance to slip upstairs.

He goes to bed without bathing. Last time he bathed, which was a few days ago, he held himself underwater for so long that his vision got black around the edges and his lungs caught on fire. It was scary because he felt the urge to go back under and hold his breath a lot longer.

Sometimes it still hurts. Emmett clenches his thighs. He can’t bear to think of that place, can’t think about it too long, let alone touch it, wash it, nothing. He wakes up some nights to the phantom touch of rough hands on his hips, his thighs. There are always tears. Just as many as there was that night. That night when Emmett’s life seemed to fall apart at the seams, unravelling itself until it was an unfamiliar mess of consciousness, seemingly belonging to someone else. It was as if everything before that night had been a dream.

And everything afterwards was a nightmare.

Emmett thinks about that a lot. Sometimes he pulls at his eyelashes and eyebrows when he thinks about it. He doesn’t mean to. It makes his parents mad, and kids tease him.

He thinks about guns a lot, too. Pointing them at himself. What would be the most reliable part of himself to shoot? He decides on the temple.

Sleep rarely comes, but when it does, it is short and awful.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this wasn't a smut, guys. I hope this is okay anyway. Leave a comment if you want.


End file.
